Nothing Ventured
by erindarroch
Summary: A year after the Battle of Yavin, Han makes a pivotal decision in his life and his relationship with Leia. Co-written with Justine Graham. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Nothing Ventured**

by Erin Darroch and Justine Graham

 **A/N:** _So._ First things first: **do you trust us?** =) You _know_ we are Han/Leia shippers from waaaay back and we have zero interest in seeing either of them with anyone else. However, in chatting about such things, as we often do, we became intrigued by the notion that, at some point, Han had to make a conscious decision to put an end to his casual pursuits of other women and seriously set his cap for Leia, if he was ever going to win her over. So, this story is about that moment. Warning: it does feature Han and _another woman who is not Leia_ but...well, just... _trust us_ , would ya? =D

Also, we owe thanks to **Sue Zahn** , who contributed to an early draft of this story over a year ago (yes, we've been sitting on it a while) and whose distinctive voice may yet be detectable in places. Thanks, Sue.

Finally, more heartfelt thanks to the a-mazing beta reader **LoveTh!s** whose detailed and insightful comments really helped us make this story better. (And also maybe saved us from the flames!)

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Thanks for reading. Hope you like it!

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 **Chapter 1:**

"Will you watch what you're doing, you big mop head! You nearly took my arm off!" Han Solo snarled, snatching the fusion cutter out of Chewbacca's hands and sitting back on his heels to glare at the recalcitrant hyperdrive motivator they were trying—without much success—to remove. He ground his teeth. "What did you do to this, anyway, weld it in place?"

It was the third time in an hour that Han had erupted in a string of complaints and furious Corellian curses, but it was the first time his ire had been aimed directly at his friend and co-pilot, and Chewbacca was not amused.

Chewie growled low in his throat and reached one long, shaggy arm over to snatch the cutter back. Han squawked an angry protest, but let the tool go without a fight. In his experience, wrestling with a Wookiee for physical possession of any item was always a fruitless exercise—and was generally a bad idea, too. Han settled for merely glaring and scowling as he prepared another verbal assault. But as he drew breath to speak again, Chewie swiveled his big head around and fixed his friend with a cold azure stare that arrested Han's momentum.

" _What?"_ Han snapped instead.

 _*I_ told _you I would do this myself. You're in the way_ ,* Chewbacca rumbled, then turned his attention back to the task of extracting the _Millennium Falcon_ 's old _Tak-Simm_ generator.

On the deck next to the Wookiee lay its replacement—a shiny new _Isu-Simm SSP05_ hyperdrive motivator, which was a significant upgrade that had been arranged by Leia Organa in partial payment for services rendered to the Alliance in the year that had passed since the Battle of Yavin. Under ordinary circumstances, Han's mouth would have watered at the mere thought of securing such a component for the _Falcon_ , and he would have wasted no time in installing it. Indeed, he'd made a special stop at Cularin to do just that, on the way back from completing a personnel transfer between the Rebel base on Karatha and the one on Falleen. But now that they were up to their elbows in what _should_ be a highly enjoyable task, the whole process of extracting the old unit and installing the new one wasn't giving Han the usual thrill of satisfaction. In fact, the job felt tedious and frustrating, rather than exciting.

 _*I thought you were going out to meet your friend anyway,*_ the Wookiee grumbled, his eyes once again fixed on the task at hand.

Han felt a prickle of annoyance at the reminder, and frowned. Then his scowl deepened, feeling a second wave of frustration because he couldn't figure out why Chewie's suggestion annoyed him so much in the first place. His decision to upgrade the hyperdrive here in the city of Sallachan had been made only partly because the portside facilities had the latest simulation and diagnostic equipment they would need to test the new installation. Before the Empire's oppression had forced him and Chewie to eke out a living as smugglers, they'd run a fairly successful freighting operation together, and Sallachan had been one of their regular stops. As a consequence, Han still had a few contacts here—although he would go so far as to call only one of them a _friend_. He dropped that line of thought, shrugged in irritation, and reached for another cutting tool from the open tray on the deck.

"Yeah, well. I changed my mind."

 _*Change it again.*_ Without turning his head, Chewbacca extended one massive, hairy arm, effectively blocking Han's access to the work site. _*_ Go. _I'll finish this myself._ *

"Like hell you will."

Chewbacca gave an impatient chuff, stopped what he was doing and then shifted around in his squatting position so that he was facing Han more directly. The long russet fur that covered his thick neck and broad shoulders bristled visibly as he fixed his friend with a piercing stare. Curling his upper lip, he showed Han a glimpse of white fang as he growled a response.

* _Only one person is required to do this job.* he rumbled ominously, * Is it going to be you? Or me?_ *

After a failed attempt to intimidate the Wookiee with a snarling glare of his own, Han gave another irritated shrug of his shoulders and threw the tool back down.

"Fine. Do it yourself."

* _Go see Nik already._ *

"I'm going."


	2. Chapter 2

**-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-**

 **Chapter 2:**

The long walk from the Sallachan spaceport to the edge of the nearest residential district helped to clear Han's head somewhat, and by the time he reached the boardwalk of the wide river that bisected the city he'd almost changed his mind again about meeting Nik. It was late spring in this part of Cularin, and the sky was a clear, deep blue. The afternoon sun slanted across the chromium and glassine faces of the tall residential towers on the opposite bank, glinting against the mirrored surfaces and turning them to gold. It made for a stunning view, and Han took a moment to stop and lean on the riverside railing to take it all in. He tilted his head down to watch the sun-sparkled water flowing below, and then lifted his eyes to contemplate the steady stream of pedestrian traffic across the way before angling his gaze upward to study the soaring birds overhead. As he watched the white-winged avians wheeling through the air, a glint of silver high in the stratosphere caught his eye, and he lingered for a moment to admire the sight of an elegant Nubian star skiff as it arrowed down towards the city, clearly angling for the nearby spaceport. Sallachan was a haven of sorts in this part of the galaxy, one of the nicer ports on Han's erstwhile shipping circuit, and one that had so far escaped the worst of the Empire's predations. As a cool breeze ruffled his hair and clothing, Han felt himself beginning to relax. Maybe, he thought, all he'd really needed was to stretch his legs, get some fresh air, and get away from Chewie for a while.

If he was perfectly honest with himself, though, he _knew_ that the foul mood he'd been in all day had nothing to do with his patient Wookiee partner and everything to do with a certain Alderaani princess who was, in all likelihood, presently bossing people around on the hidden military base at Karatha.

The mere thought of Leia Organa made Han's stomach jump and his pulse thrum a little harder, a strange physiological fact that both mystified him and made his jaw clench in frustration every time it happened. Not only was he perplexed over his powerful reaction to the diminutive woman, he was more than a little exasperated with himself for not being able to control either the physical response or the mental fixation that seemed to be developing alongside it. He'd experienced infatuation before, of course. In his youth, he'd been as susceptible to those periods of intense but fleeting fixations as any man, and he'd done his fair share of chasing after sex. But _this_. This was different. The state of being wholly preoccupied with another person—and not just sexually, but in _every_ way—was something new. The tentative arrangement Leia had offered him in the aftermath of the Battle of Yavin had shifted gradually from strictly business to something much more personal, and the warm friendship that ensued had become increasingly intimate and important to Han in a way that he'd never imagined, much less anticipated, and he was having trouble deciding what to do about it.

The princess, however, had recently and very abruptly resolved to curtail their growing mutual attachment and to funnel her energies in other directions, a unilateral decision that provoked Han to new levels of fury every time he thought about it. Although he knew it was Leia herself who had arranged for the hyperdrive upgrade in payment for his services, she'd also gone to great lengths to avoid seeing or speaking to Han in the process of arranging the transaction. In fact, in recent days she had delegated everything pertaining to their usual business to one of her assistants, including dispatching Han on his most recent mission. It rankled in part because it was such an abrupt change to the warm dynamic that had developed between them over the past few months, but also because he knew that his own behavior had caused the sudden shift. Leia was distancing herself from Han because _he_ persisted in distancing himself from the Rebellion. She was fighting the attraction that existed between them—Han _knew_ she felt it, the same as he did—because she didn't want to become involved with a man who had repeatedly warned her that he might fly off at any minute and never return. It was simple self-preservation, and Han had no trouble understanding that; in fact, he had an inkling that a similar motive was behind his own contrary behavior. The declarations he made at regular intervals that he was _only in it for the money_ and would _soon be hitting the skies_ were, he knew, bulwarks against the possibility of forming any lasting attachments. Although on a rational level he could understand Leia's reluctance to give him a shot, on a gut level he was frustrated by her wholesale rejection of his company, and perplexed by how much he seemed to care.

The very fact that Han was still wavering over whether or not to stay with the Rebels and their hopeless cause was alarming enough. He'd survived for so long in the smuggler's trade precisely because he kept things as simple, straightforward and _unencumbered_ as possible. He knew better than to become closely entangled with his clients—or with anyone else, for that matter—and for the past several years he'd seldom lingered in any one place longer than a month or so. In fact, prior to his engagement with the Alliance, the longest stretch planetside he could readily recall had been perhaps ten or twelve days, so _a full year_ was absolutely unprecedented. He was therefore perfectly mystified by his own continual acceptance of short-term contracts and, most of all, by his apparent reluctance to leave the Rebels behind.

It wasn't _just_ the princess, either, Han acknowledged. Between her and Luke, he'd been caught completely unawares, ensnared by genuine friendships of the sort he'd previously permitted only with Chewbacca. He'd had plenty of opportunities to ditch the pair of idealists over the last year and, lately, some strong incentive, too. But he hadn't done it _yet_ and he was honest enough with himself to acknowledge that Leia Organa was the main reason.

 _There it was again_ : that tiny jolt he felt whenever he thought about her, an electric current that raced through his gut and made his heart thump a little harder whenever she crossed his mind. With a frustrated shake of his head, he shoved off from the riverwalk railing and began to make his way towards the broad pedestrian footbridge that spanned the river. He followed the route over the water by habit, but at a much slower pace than usual, allowing other beings to move past him in a steady flow. He wasn't the only spacer in the crowd; Sallachan remained a popular port for galactic trade of all sorts. But it was also a thriving city of at least a million beings—mainly human and humanoid, but with a few more exotic denizens here and there—and it was easy to get lost in the throng. Parents with children, people in business attire on their way home from work, and young couples walking arm-in-arm passed Han by as he strolled at an unhurried pace across the broad arch, trapped in thoughts that whirled relentlessly around a certain feisty little brunette.

The strong physical attraction between them was undeniable, Han mused, no matter how hard Leia tried to pretend otherwise. But that element alone was hardly enough to keep him tethered—at least, it was not the sort of thing he had ever allowed to interfere with prudent business decisions in the past. He liked to think he had greater control over his own base desires than that. Furthermore, he reminded himself, Leia was precisely the sort of woman he didn't need in his life: an acid-tongued politician with a fiery temper, a complicated personal history, and a passion for defying the Empire that bordered on fanaticism. _What the hell is wrong with you,_ his cynical inner voice jeered. _You need to get away from her. The sooner, the better._

Sure, she'd been a good friend to him over the past year; he could acknowledge that much, at least. But did he _really_ want to lay siege to Leia's defenses when they were clearly meant to keep him out? Why should he knock his brains out trying to pursue a woman who had just made it abundantly clear that she didn't _want_ to be pursued? It was a little— _no_ , Han corrected himself; it was _absolutely_ —insane, and it was certainly not the sort of action he'd ever contemplated in his life, not for any woman. He simply couldn't understand what had brought him to the point of even debating with himself over it.

Reaching the midway point of the footbridge, Han stopped and braced his hands on the rail once more, staring up the bright blue sky and the birds wheeling overhead. He was painfully aware that he was mooning over a woman like a lovesick teenager, but he couldn't seem to help himself. There were things about Leia that intrigued him deeply, qualities that drew him to her with the force of a tractor beam, but which also kept him at a distance, trapped in a fixed orbit around her, unable either to land or to achieve escape velocity. Although he'd never been the type to contemplate his deepest feelings or examine his own motives too closely, he took a moment now to try to understand what it was that made him dwell on thoughts of Leia when he was trying his damndest to put her out of his mind.

He certainly admired her spirit, her sharp wit and her bravery. She'd suffered devastating personal losses that should've wiped her out—would've written anyone else out of the war altogether. Instead of retiring, though, she'd fought her way back to the front lines and battled on. She was a scrapper; fierce when she needed to be, deadly with a blaster and not afraid to get her hands dirty. She had a wickedly dry sense of humor, he'd discovered, which she kept mostly under wraps, but she was also compassionate and genuinely _a good person_. As much as Han had disparaged such soft characteristics for most of his life, he had to admit to feeling something for Leia that he felt for very few other beings in the galaxy, and that feeling was _trust._ Deep in his bones, he had a firm belief in her essential goodness that was matched only by his faith in Chewie.

Sure, they bantered and quarreled a little, and sometimes the banter got somewhat _animated_ and the quarrels a little strained. But mostly Han took those occasional squabbles as a sign of good things to come, an indication of the passion that simmered just beneath Leia's cool exterior, and proof of the heat that existed between them. In a moment of rare emotional clarity, he realized that he persisted in provoking her ire precisely because he _liked_ it when she took him to pieces with her sharp tongue, her dark eyes flashing and her fists planted on her hips.

She was a little on the bossy side, that was true; but as long as she was ordering _other_ people around, Han didn't mind. In fact, watching her take confident command of complex operations was something he enjoyed a great deal. But underneath all of that there was something else, something in his own powerful response to her that was vastly different from all of his previous experiences with women, and that bothered him. It bothered him _a lot,_ in fact, because Leia was now evidently determined either to ignore the attraction or deny it, and to keep as much physical distance between them as possible.

As he turned away from the railing and continued his course across the river, Han mulled over the last tense conversation he'd had with her, and its outcomes. A little over a month ago, in the aftermath of their first promising kiss—the memory of which still set fire to Han's blood when he called it to mind—she'd confronted him once again about his refusal to officially join the Rebellion. And then, clearly unhappy with his curt response to that challenge, she'd issued what amounted to a royal decree, that the two of them should remain thereafter "just friends". She'd followed up on that cringe-inducing indignity by promptly dropping any semblance of what Han would have considered _friendship_ , even to the point of abruptly declining all invitations to the shared dinners aboard the _Falcon_ with him and Luke and Chewie that had become almost routine for the four of them over the past several months. Add to that her maddeningly cool and impassive behavior in the interim, during those times when she couldn't avoid running into him on base, and it was obvious that she was dealing with things between them by not dealing with them at all.

 _That ain't what I call friendship, Sweetheart._

Han gave an inward wince at that bitter thought, uncomfortable with the vulnerability it revealed within his own heart and the relative weakness of his position. It was true; he _had_ wanted something more with Leia. The trouble was...he was a little vague on exactly what that entailed. He'd be hard-pressed to put it into words, because he didn't actually _know_ what he wanted. Or perhaps it was closer to the truth to say that what he seemed to crave now, with Leia, was in direct opposition to the things he'd craved all his life, and that was confusing the hell out of him.

It shouldn't be difficult to resolve, Han told himself. Leia had made it easy for him, in fact, by making it clear she was no longer interested in exploring any possibilities between them; at least, not on _his_ terms. And Han couldn't—he absolutely _would not_ —accept hers. So, clearly, it was time to cut his losses and move on. But that option made Han's blood run cold, and put him right back at the start of the mental loop he'd been trapped in since he'd left her on Karatha. He growled under his breath.

It was ridiculous, really; both Leia's rather immature expectation that he should abandon his personal business and join the Rebellion at her behest, and just how much her disapproval of his choices bothered him. And anyway, he fumed, it wasn't like he hadn't _already_ abandoned his personal business. So what if he hadn't signed up officially and donned one of their ugly uniforms? If hauling supplies and personnel from one side of the galaxy to the other, running near-suicidal missions to Imp-infested systems, and exploiting his underground contacts for the sake of the Rebellion didn't count —if that wasn't good enough for her—well, she could just go to hell. The memory of her last haughty dismissal, especially, made him seethe inside.

He supposed his current level of frustration was only what might be expected from pursuing—and being summarily rejected by—a barely-out-of-her-teens idealist. But he was still left with the problem of how to deal with it. And _that_ , he acknowledged with a heavy sigh, was one of the main reasons he'd chosen to stop on Cularin instead of some other port: he was looking for a distraction.

With those thoughts lingering in his mind, Han found himself at the end of the long footbridge and facing a busy city thoroughfare, lined on both sides by broad pedestrian avenues that were thronged with people going about their daily business. As he watched the heavy speeder traffic whiz by, he was glad he'd taken the time to comm ahead instead of just showing up. Nik was a busy professional, with a trans-galactic shipping company to run, and Han arriving without notice wasn't normally how they conducted business. With the heavy congestion so prevalent in this part of town, taking the time and effort to get to the heart of the city only to be disappointed would have been an exercise in frustration, and he'd had enough of that for one day.

When a gap opened up in the passing traffic, he trotted across the street, then angled for a footpath that cut through a well-manicured topiary garden and up to the main entrance of one of the tall apartment buildings along the riverbank. The small but stylish bar in which he'd agreed to meet Nik was located in the same complex, part of a rank of commercial establishments situated on the ground floor of Nik's apartment building, and popular with the locals. He paused for a moment at its entrance and drew a steadying breath. Then, pushing all thoughts of the princess firmly to the back of his mind, he ventured inside, still trying to suppress the inexplicable feeling of reluctance that tugged at his gut.

 **-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-**


	3. Chapter 3

**-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-**

 **Chapter 3:**

The darkened cantina hummed with the dull buzz of myriad voices in conversation, a cacophony of a dozen or more languages from around the galaxy, all straining to be heard above the demented warbling of a jizz-wailer that assailed Han's ears as he stepped through the door. His practiced gaze scanned around the interior, taking in the crowded tables and the large number of patrons seated around the congested bar, simultaneously looking for Nik as well as for any signs of trouble. This area, located in the wealthier downtown core district of Sallachan, wasn't a rough section of town by any stretch of the imagination. But a cantina was a cantina; best to keep a wary eye, and a low profile. Han kept one hand on the butt of his blaster as he ruled out any obvious threats. Finding none, and seeing that Nik hadn't yet arrived, he opted to take one of the few spaces remaining at the bar and caught the bartender's attention as he hitched himself up onto one of the tall stools.

"Whyren's, straight up."

The bartender gave a short nod, and then reached under the bar to withdraw a heavy-bottomed tumbler. After setting it down in front of Han, he selected a bottle from the display to his rear and filled it a quarter full with amber liquid, which he pushed towards Han and then moved on down the line to respond to a signal from the opposite end of the bar.

As the attendant retreated, Han lifted the whiskey to his lips and took a small sip. The premium liquor was rich and smooth, redolent with tones of wood smoke and caramel, sending a wave of soothing heat straight through to his limbs. The pleasant sensation helped only marginally to dispel the profound feeling of disquiet left behind by his thoughts of Leia. Although he was making a concerted effort to compartmentalize those thoughts, they still managed to worm their way past his defenses and continued to plague him. To his chagrin he realized the princess was really beginning to get under his skin—hell, she was already firmly embedded there, an itch he couldn't quite scratch. It was enough to put him in a dour, disagreeable mood, just when he was _supposed_ to be thinking about having a good time.

"You're losing your edge, love." The mellifluous, round tones of a Sallachan woman speaking heavily accented Basic floated to Han's ears from behind him.

He swiveled around on his stool, then belatedly affected nonchalance by cocking back on his seat and leaning both elbows on the bar behind him. The woman he'd come to see was standing scarcely a meter away and eyeing him with interest. He hadn't perceived her approach—yet another sign of how distracted he'd become—but he disguised his surprise with a lazy smile.

"Ah, Nik, I _noticed_ you," he lied for form's sake, without even attempting to sound convincing. "I was just trying to play it low key. Don't want to come across as too eager." He gave her figure a playfully lecherous once-over with his eyes.

He'd almost forgotten how stunning Nikona Reez was. She was nearly as tall as Han himself, and much of that height was in her legs—toned, tanned, beautiful legs that she never missed an opportunity to display. She wore a pale, sleeveless dress that hugged her slender curves and exposed a tantalizing glimpse of lightly tanned skin. The hem of her dress ended just above her knees, and on her feet she wore a pair of expensive-looking heels. She was caramel-skinned and exotic looking, with a riot of dark blonde curls that just brushed her jaw line, slanted deep blue eyes and a wide, smiling mouth.

"Don't want to seem eager, hm?" She smirked at him, not fooled by his casual demeanor, and then gave a light _tsk_ of her tongue. "Such a pity. _Eager_ is just what I'm looking for."

That smooth, rich voice, and the familiar scent of the perfume that drifted in her wake evoked vivid memories that succeeded, at least momentarily, in driving all other thoughts from Han's mind and sent an altogether different kind of heat spreading through him, more intense than the effects of the whiskey alone could ever achieve. Nik leaned into his space then, her soft hair tickling his cheek and her fingers brushing against his as she plucked the tumbler from his hand. She straightened and then cocked one fine blonde brow at him over the rim as she raised the glass to her lips and took a sip.

"Nice choice," she opined, her tongue darting out to sweep across her pink-glossed lips. She gave a low hum of approval, and then set the tumbler back down on the bar. "But then, you always did have good taste in whiskey."

A new surge of recollections prickled the hair at the back of Han's neck. "And not so good taste in women," he rejoined. "Present company excluded, of course."

She flashed a smile. "Of course. May I?" she asked, indicating the vacant stool next to him.

"Be my guest."

The lithe blonde woman signaled for the bartender, and then exchanged a few words with him in their native tongue as she settled into the seat. Her pale skirt rode high up her slim thighs as she crossed one leg over the other, and Han noticed with interest that she made no attempt to correct the situation.

"You look fantastic, Nik," he complimented sincerely. "How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you," she said, smoothing back a few strands of golden hair that had settled out of place from the effects of the breeze outside. She offered a polite nod to the bartender as he returned to set a glass of wine in front of her, and then lifted it in her slender fingers and took a delicate sip. Angling around in her seat, she drew back slightly to allow her dark blue eyes to drift over Han's form, and then leaned towards him again with an appreciative smile. "You look pretty amazing yourself, Solo," Nikona said, and eyed him up and down for a moment longer. "Whatever you're doing these days, it's keeping you in good shape."

 _Whatever you're doing these days._ Those few words were enough to bring thoughts of his present predicament flooding back to the forefront of his mind. He reclaimed his whiskey, took another bolstering sip and then nodded, both by way of reply and in an effort to shake off the unwanted thoughts of the Alderaani princess who, even in her absence, still stubbornly demanded to exert control.

This was _exactly_ why he chosen Cularin, and called on Nik. She was, by contrast, completely _un_ demanding. Han had known her for four or five years, ever since he'd worked for her on regular trans-galactic hauls back when her shipping business was in its fledgling state. He liked her well enough. She was intelligent, open-minded and independent—all qualities Han generally admired. She was also beautiful by any human standard, and sexy as hell. But even more importantly, from Han's perspective, she was genuinely uninterested in forming attachments. She enjoyed his body and the pleasure of his physical attentions, and she usually welcomed him into her bed with open arms. They rarely discussed anything of substance beyond superficial shop-talk—bemoaning the vagaries of fortune or the difficulties of running a legitimate shipping operation while the Empire steadily tightened its grip. Whenever Han happened to be on Cularin he would let Nik know and, if she was free, they'd meet up; simple as that. It was easy. Pleasant. Uncomplicated.

"It _is_ good to see you." Nik inclined her head and focused the full intensity of her azure gaze upon him, lightly tapping the tip of one crimson fingernail against the stem of her glass in time with the lively music. "It's been a while since I've had the pleasure. Far too long for my liking."

"You know how it is, Nik," he replied, swirling the amber liquid in his tumbler. "Busy trying to make a living. Getting tougher all the time."

"How's Chewie these days?" Nikona asked.

"Fine," he answered, flicking his eyes to hers. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," she shrugged. Her tone was casual but her eyes were sharp, evaluating him with a curious gaze. "When I walked in here, you looked like someone had blasted your best friend, that's all."

Han blinked, nonplussed. It was an odd comment, coming from Nik. One of the reasons Han liked her, apart from her more obvious charms, was that she wasn't normally the type to engage in idle chat about personal matters. Han tipped the rest of his whiskey down his throat, and signaled the attendant for another. He was starting to think that being pleasantly lit would be of considerable benefit in his present situation.

"Yeah, well, Chewie's fine," he muttered. He waited for the attendant to deposit his refill, and then fixed Nik with an expression that said _drop it._ "Everything's fine."

Nik appeared unfazed by Han's clipped tone and look of reproach, and offered a small shrug. "If you say so," she said. She glanced around the crowded cantina as she took another sip of her wine, and then her keen eyes focused on his once more with a canny look. Nik was astute, and Han knew immediately that she saw right through him.

"I've known you for a few years now, Captain," she observed. "Enough to know you're not yourself. Something's up. Having trouble making ends meet?"

Han didn't respond. Instead, he angled away from Nik and leaned forward to plant both forearms on the bar, toying with the glass he held between his hands. He couldn't remember Nik ever being this curious about anything outside of the bedroom, and it certainly wasn't like her to pass comment on his mood.

"You're never going to get rich working for the Rebs, you know," she observed, appearing to take no notice of the fact he hadn't replied to her question. "Although I guess you _could_ pawn that shiny medal they gave you. It would fetch a nice price, I'm sure."

Han fired Nik a hot glare, and then turned away again to mask his growing irritation. Clearly, the holovid of that stupid ceremony was still making its way around the galaxy, just as the Alliance High Command had hoped it would. That fact alone was vexing enough, but the blatant curiosity in Nikona's voice pained him even more and raised his ire.

"How'd you get caught up in all of that, anyway?" she continued, still seeming oblivious to his obvious displeasure. "You're not usually the type to get involved in someone else's fight."

"And you're not usually the type to pry," he reminded her, his voice taking on a hard edge.

Nik's fine eyebrows arched. "I was only asking because I thought you might be looking for work," she said coolly. "But _apparently_ there's something else on your mind. If you weren't Han Solo—and if I didn't know it's not within your range—I'd say you were...brooding about something."

Despite himself, Han bristled, and he felt his scowl deepen. "I don't _brood_ ," he said in a sour tone. He didn't want to talk about this, especially not with Nik. He was here for one reason only, to take his mind off of the convoluted mess he was tangled up in, and now he wasn't so sure he even wanted to do _that_.

"Exactly. Yet here you are, doing just that. Can you blame me for being curious?"

"Nik," he cautioned, "I said leave it alone. If wanted to _talk_ , I wouldn't have come to _you_."

Han winced a little at the harsh implication of his own words, but Nikona didn't seem to mind. In fact, the corner of her mouth lifted into a playful smile that matched the impish sparkle in her eyes.

"But you _did_ come to me," she said, her voice lowering to a sultry octave that caused more than his memories to stir, a sensation that heightened when she dropped a hand to rest on his knee. "And maybe it's time we remembered _why_ you're here." Under cover of the dim cantina light, she dragged her fingers up the length of his thigh, keeping her eyes locked on his. "So let's cut to the chase, shall we? Finish your drink, and let's continue this little trip down memory lane back at my place." As she spoke, she moved her hand higher to skim across his groin.

Han cocked one eyebrow. "As direct as ever, I see," he drawled.

Nik gave a light laugh. "As I recall, you always preferred my direct approach." She flicked her eyes down to his lap and back up again, and then moved her hand in a bolder stroke. She made a small sound of appreciation, seemingly pleased with his body's powerful reaction under her touch. She leaned in a bit closer then and brought her full lips to his ear, close enough for Han to feel the warm rush of her breath as she whispered, " _Something_ tells me you still do."

As conflicted as he was over his present circumstances, the idea of a tryst with Nik remained a tempting proposition, especially while her hand continued its teasing exploration below his belt. Sex with Nik had always been a fun experience; she was an uninhibited and adventurous partner, and she could do things with that remarkable mouth that were most likely illegal in at least six sectors. Rationally, he knew there was nothing wrong with two consenting adults getting together like this, especially since the only other woman on his scopes had firmly and with great finality squashed all of his ambitions for taking things any further with _her_.

So, why then did he feel so... _guilty_?

"I think maybe I'll pass this time, Nik," he heard himself say. His words sounded unbelievable to his own ears, and it took a heartbeat for him to realize that he'd actually said them aloud.

Abruptly, Nik halted her tactile explorations. "You'll _pass_?" she said in an incredulous tone that matched her look of frank astonishment. Slowly withdrawing her hand, she leaned back. "Now I _know_ there's something wrong with you." She gave him a quizzical eyebrow. "If you're not here for our usual business and you're not looking for work, why did you contact me?"

"Sorry, Nik," he muttered, squirming under her piercing gaze. "I didn't— I mean, I should've—. Ah, hell," he sighed. "Look, I'm sorry," he repeated. "It's complicated."

Nik gave a soft laugh, and then stepped down from her stool, at the same time as she tugged her skirt down to skim her slim thighs at a more modest length. "Then let me simplify it for you, Solo," she said, tilting her head and quirking a fond smile. "Option one: you finish your drink, go back to your ship and take care of business all by yourself. Option two: you follow me home, and we have ourselves the enjoyable afternoon you called me up for in the first place. You decide."

Han allowed his eyes to slide over Nik from top to bottom. He knew every part of that lissome body, and how she was capable of making him feel. She could make him forget about everything else for a while, and _that_ was the reason he was here—to set aside his jumbled thoughts about the confusing state of his life, at least for an hour or two. What she offered was something he knew, something simple and easily understood, not like—.

"So, are you coming up or not?" she murmured, arching a golden eyebrow.

 _What the hell,_ Han thought. _Might as well_. He gave her his most charming smile, and willed his voice not to sound as hesitant as he felt. "Yeah, okay. Sure. If it's a good time for you."

Nikona returned his smile with a sly one of her own. "Honey, when you're planetside, it's _always_ a good time." Then she bent low to whisper in his ear. "You look after things here. You know where I live, and you know how much I hate being kept waiting."

Han kept his eyes focused on his whiskey as she walked away, allowing time for the heavy ache in his groin to subside while he pondered over his choices. He was as unencumbered as he'd ever been, with no commitments or ties to speak of; there was nothing to hold him back. In fact, he was under no obligation to return to Karatha at all. His latest contract had been fulfilled, and he hadn't bothered to line up any more, skeptical as he was that he wanted to continue in the service of the Rebellion. He was even less inclined to do so now that Leia was refusing to engage with him on even the most superficial level. He'd already been paid in full with the acquisition of the new hyperdrive motivator, and so there was really no reason for him to return. He and Chewie could skip out straight from here, blast off from Cularin into the wide open galaxy, and never look back.

So why did the image of a diminutive, hot-tempered princess with deep brown eyes continue to interfere—especially now, when a gorgeous, tall and leggy blonde was _right here_ , all but throwing herself at him? It didn't make any sense. As much as he wished otherwise, there was no promise of anything between him and Leia. He was free to do as he pleased, whenever he wanted and _with_ whomever he wanted.

At length, the bartender ventured over and caught Han's eye. "Assuming you'll want to settle up," he said smoothly in Basic, giving Han a knowing wink.

Han drummed his fingers on the bar top while he wrestled with the decision, trying to figure out exactly what it was he was waiting for. He didn't have to explain himself, or feel guilty about a damn thing. And an evening of gratification with an attractive and willing woman? He'd be a fool to say no to that.

That was it, then. Han stood up, tossed a credit chip on the bar, threw back the remains of his drink and then turned and made his way towards the exit, headed for Nik's place.

 **-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-**


	4. Chapter 4

**-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-**

 **Chapter 4:**

She answered the door on the first knock. It was obvious that she'd fully anticipated Han to be right behind her, and she stepped back and held the door open with a knowing expression of amusement.

"Wise decision," she quipped.

"Well, you made a good case," he countered, moving forward into the room and allowing the door to swing closed behind him. He shrugged off his flight jacket and removed his holster, tossing them both over the low bench that sat in Nik's foyer. "And besides, Chewie's going to be busy for a—".

The instant he turned around, Nik was on him. Two generous shots of whiskey had dampened his reflexes, and as she launched herself into his arms he staggered back, hitting the wall behind him with a dull thud. She tugged the hem of his shirt free and made short work of the fastenings, slipping both hands through the open edges to run her hands over his bare chest after she finished the last one. She didn't move to kiss him on the mouth, though; they'd long ago dispensed with even the semblance of romance or such tokens of affection, which suited Han just fine.

"You don't waste any time," he said with a wry smile.

"And why should I?" she breathed, pressing the flat of her hand against the front of his trousers. His body responded instinctively once more, her assertive touch sending a rush of blood careening southward. "I know what I want." She splayed one hand across his chest while the other worked the buckle of his belt. "And I know what you want, too."

She dipped her head to nuzzle at the hollow of his throat, and then trailed open-mouthed kisses down the centre of his chest. Her warm hands held fast to his hips as she moved lower still to skim her soft lips across his abdomen, following the path of dark hair that disappeared below his belt line, until she had settled herself on her knees before him. Then, gazing up at him with heated desire darkening the depths of her brilliant blue eyes, her hands moved to the front of his trousers to pop open the top button and ease down the zipper. Her fingertips grazed the sensitive skin beneath as she slipped one hand through the gap, delving down past the waistband of his boxers to wrap around him with a touch that was bold and self-assured. Han stifled a groan, leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

 _Gods, it felt so, so…_

Wrong.

It felt _wrong_.

There was no tenderness in Nik's touch, and definitely no emotion to lend substance to her urgent caresses. Suddenly, the reality of what he was doing and the utter futility of it all came thundering home. There was a time when this would have been enough for him; but now, everything about it felt empty, a hollow and meaningless thing that turned his stomach and left a bitter taste in his mouth. Being with Nik would satisfy him for a little while, but that feeling wouldn't last. It would be gone as soon as they'd taken what they wanted from each other, leaving him feeling empty again, until the next time he stopped on Cularin, seeking a distraction from the truth that was staring him in the face: for the first time in his life he wanted _more_ —and he wanted it with someone else.

The flash of insight that came with that realization set his brain against his body in a furious conflict that revoked any earlier physical responses, the effects of which soon had Nik stilling the motion of her hands and sitting back on her heels, gazing up at him with a furrowed brow and perplexity in her deep blue eyes. That vague look of bewilderment rearranged itself into a completely dumbfounded expression when he gently pushed her hands away.

"I can't do this," Han said with a note of remorse, extending a hand to help Nik to her feet. He scrubbed a hand over his face and set about refastening his shirt. "This... coming here was a mistake. I'm sorry, Nik."

Nik adjusted her skirt as she straightened to her full height, and then ran her fingers through her riot of curls before clasping her hands loosely in front of her and offering him a wistful smile.

"Don't be. We've been at this a long time, you and I. I knew as soon as I saw you that something had changed." She tilted her head, eyeing him with lively interest. "I didn't guess it right away because, well…. It's _you._ And it seemed a little preposterous, to be honest. But now…." Nik lowered her gaze for a moment, and then slanted a look at Han from under lowered lashes. "Care to tell me who she is?"

Han shook his head, but didn't offer any further response. He finished tucking in his shirt and refastening his trousers, and then cinched his belt and reached for his holster rig, his mind a million miles away.

"You don't have to leave so soon," Nik interjected. "Why don't you stay for a drink, and relax for a while? You said yourself that Chewie is going to be busy for some time."

Han straightened but kept his eyes trained downward, feigning concentration on adjusting the slant of his holster across his hips as he contemplated Nik's offer. Part of him longed to be the sort of person who could pour out his aching heart to someone on a whim, to have the ability to spill forth the tangled mess of his emotions for someone to help him sort through and put into some semblance of logical order.

But he _wasn't_ that person, and Nik...Nik wasn't that someone. She was a remnant of a former life, one that he knew, unequivocally, he was leaving behind here and now. As much as he knew he could never forget her, he also knew that the lines between that old life and the new—whatever that might look like—should never be crossed. The memories of his time spent with Nik were best left as they were: unsullied and forever appreciated, but relegated to a past version of himself that no longer existed.

He shrugged his flight jacket on. "Thanks, Nik, but I don't think that's a good idea. Probably better if I just go."

She gave a short nod. "I understand," she said in a quiet tone. "Will I see you again?"

"No," he replied, a little surprised by the note of absolute certainty in his own voice. He softened his tone. "Not like this, anyway."

Nik regarded him with a fond expression, but there seemed to be a heavy-heartedness in the halting smile that graced her lips, and Han thought he saw a hint of melancholy flash in the blue eyes she raised to his. She reached out then and briefly clasped one of his hands in both of hers. "Take care of yourself, Han," she said warmly.

Han lingered for a moment, and then lifted both hands to frame her face. He brushed a gentle kiss across her cheek before drawing back with his own rueful smile.

"Goodbye, Nik."

 **-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-**

He found Chewie exactly where he'd expected him to be, still up to his furry elbows in the task of replacing the hyperdrive motivator. The Wookiee cast him a curious glance as Han picked up a fusion cutter and assumed his usual place at his friend's side. If Chewie noticed how little time had passed since Han's departure, or that his earlier thorny disposition had been replaced by a quiet pensiveness, he was at least astute enough not to say a word. Working in companionable silence, they finished the job and lifted off within the hour, heading back to Karatha.

 **-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-**

 **The End**


End file.
